Tamed by the Thorns' Embrace
by Supreme Distraction
Summary: Even the fiery breath of a dragon can't help Shyvana break free from the Rise of the Thorns's embrace, but she isn't about to allow herself to be tamed without a fight. Riot, begin making a new Dragon Tamer Zyra skin. I'll be waiting.


Just a bit of femmslash while I work on other, larger things :3 I had a shout-out for some Shyvana love, so I thought I'd jot this down. Don't you worry, there will be more works featuring her in the future—this was just too fun to pass up. Enjoy~

**Tamed By the Thorns' Embrace**

A dragon—a massive, scaled creature with a slender, purple-scaled body and rows of razor sharp fangs between which the hottest of flames danced—thrashed its way through the underbrush, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake that very quickly righted itself as though the crushing, burning, and general destruction had never occurred.

This place, the verdant collection of fauna around which a cloud of magic shimmered and twisted like a mirage, wasn't exactly its natural habitat, you see, and its presence had not gone unnoticed by the jungle's inhabitants.

The dragon whirled, smashing its way through the crumbling rock remains of a civilization long gone, and released a frustrated huff when it came upon a dead end: an impassible wall of deadly sharp briar that choked the life from any creature dim enough to stumble into its embrace. Flames proved useless against such a mighty plant foe and the beast huffed again, smoke leaving its widened nostrils as it turned to retrace its steps.

And what could have such a terrifying beast fleeing with its long, spiny tail between its legs? All manner of dangerous wildlife called the Kumungu Jungle home, but none were as cunning as the creature that sauntered calmly through the trees, hunting the draconic giant as though it was nothing more than a rabbit cowering within the shadow of its impending doom.

The Rise of the Thorns, as she was called, paused briefly to sow a few seeds, her thorn-tipped fingers glowing neon pink as the buds sprouted eagerly, awaiting a command from their mistress to bloom into something so much more terrifying.

"_**Soon."**_

She waited, patient as a spider in its web, for the cacophony of '_crack'_s and '_thud_'s that were her home being torn up, magic pooling into her fingertips and humming within veins that pumped something that was no longer purely blood. Her humanity decayed with every passing day within the shell of this borrowed form—a gradual return to her true self. Already, the clothes that her human body wore had become leafy coverings, from the high-heeled, thigh-high boots on her feet to what had once been a long-sleeved tube top.

Still, being human—at least partially—had its benefits. As a plant, she would never have been able to discover the innumerable pleasures of the flesh.

Zyra snapped to attention as the trail of destruction resumed, her temples throbbing at the silent cries of outrage her homeland gave. The fauna demanded blood to be spilt for the disrespect it was being shown and she was more than willing to give it what it wanted because the wretched Half-Dragon was really too old for such childish outbursts. Her muscles tensed beneath tanned flesh as she drummed her fingers against her thigh, humming a gentle tune under her breath.

The timing had to be just right or the prey she hunted would thrash its way free… again.

It wasn't a dragon that came charging out of the trees, but a woman who was covered in dark metal armor with bright silver shoulder pads from which sharp spines jutted who, if you thought about it, was as out of place as a dragon would be. The weapons affixed to her hands were made of the same dark steel, covering from her elbows to a few feet beyond her knuckles, extending in razor sharp claws. She whipped her head around, the dull purple glow from beneath the shiny silver visor of her horned helm burning brighter, and swore quietly, apparently having gotten lost in the spell that made the jungle impossible to navigate.

The plant mage grinned wickedly.

"_**Whip vine!**_"

Her prey tensed and dove to the side, but it was too late: the _Grasping Roots _spell struck the dormant seeds, and Vine Lashers sprung to life, latching onto the woman's arms and legs and wrapping around her throat. A bestial roar left purple-painted lips—the lower half of her face being the only bit of skin left visible by her dark suit of armor—and shook the trees, sending a flock of birds to seek safety in the bright blue of the open air.

Captured again.

The huntress took her time approaching her quarry, the sway of her hips predatory. "Why do you run from me, Shyvana?"

The last time she had checked, the Half-Dragon was snoozing, content and complacent, within the mass of vines that made up her lair, so this temper tantrum was a little unexpected. But only a little—a vastly independent warrior, the purplette refused to be tied down or contained.

Shyvana bared her teeth, struggling against her restraints in a futile attempt to free herself. If only she had enough Fury, she could return to her dragon form and burn her way out of these wretched creepers. She looked at the ground and refused to respond, forcing her armored form to be as still as stone.

She knew from experience that the hunter enjoyed when the hunted fought back.

"Am I really so horrible a mistress?"

A dragon knew no mistress! Fury surged in the ancient's veins, bubbling like lava beneath her flesh as she bided her time, glaring spitefully at the earth rather than responding. There was a line of bugs with jeweled shells carrying leaves back to their nest. And a handful of flowers with little, grinning mouths. Oh, and a—

Thorn-tipped fingers hooked beneath her chin, tilting her head so that she was staring up into bright orange eyes with wild, slit-like pupils. "I do not enjoy being ignored, pet."

A thrill of satisfaction went through the bound woman, even as she bristled at the nickname, upon seeing the displeased little crease between the two teardrop shaped markings that served as the plant woman's eyebrows. Good. Let her fret.

"I am speaking to you."

Syvana's chest swelled as she inhaled deeply, flames curling around her tongue while she counted down from ten. Once she had finished, she blew thick black smoke into the other woman's face, snorting derisively for good measure.

A smirk curved ruby red lips and the Rise of the Thorn straightened, her gaze flicking left then, right, before returning to her prize. "Have it your way."

At their mistress's silent command, the vines held her tighter still, lowering her to her hands and knees as they began to wriggle, sliding along her limbs and stripping metal armor, easily, like one would shuck leaves from an ear of corn. Despite herself, the dragon woman squirmed, her ire fading just a bit. And that just wouldn't do. All hopes of escape left with her displeasure, for the warrior's combative nature fueled the Fury that in turn allowed her to tap into the fiery beast that coiled beneath her skin.

She wasn't afraid, despite the tightening grip around her throat and the sheen of paralytic toxin that coated crimson thorns—and not just because a dragon feared nothing. It was difficult to be fearful when her captor's touch left a trail of heat that rivalled the hellish flames of her _Burnout_ as thorny fingertips roamed the pale flesh that was exposed to that wild orange gaze by clever vines.

"You know the price for disobedience."

That vine collar tightened further still and the possessiveness it suggested made the Half-Dragon shudder, her lips parting to release a small, wanting sound.

Damn it all, her resolve was weakening within the embrace of the neurotoxin-tipped restraints.

When Zyra's fingertips broke her skin, raking along her clavicle and spilling droplets of dark blood to the earth, Shyvana growled low in her throat. Animal instinct warred with classically conditioned responses; while she wished to protect herself from harm, she knew from experience that the reward that followed this brief punishment was more than worth the rich draconic blood that peppered the ground.

The mage lifted her hand to her mouth, sucking from her fingertips the life-giving liquid and making a pleased sound low in her throat as her eyelids fluttered shut. She loved the taste of blood almost as much as the rampant, magic-corrupted vines that had infested the jungle did.

The Half-Dragon shifted, her body warming curiously at the sight of that satisfied expression. Her desire to flee had abated, eclipsed by a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

"You know what I want."

No prey was too clever for the mage to capture and no will too strong for her to break. She had proven that to her dear, scaled _pet _already, but she would continue to prove it until the stubborn purplette accepted it as fact.

"Well?"

Still, Shyvana refused to speak, her glowing gaze fixed on the bare hands half-clenched into fists on the ground. She was unaccustomed to seeing them without the protective covering of her clawed gauntlets.

That weary sigh was sweet music to her ears, but she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart as the vines lifted her into a standing position, though her now-bare feet hung above the soil. The only thing shielding her nudity from that wandering sunset-coloured gaze was a loincloth and the bandages she used to bind her breasts in order to prevent them from moving around uncomfortably during combat and Zyra seemed to realize that because she reached out, easily tearing both coverings to ribbons.

The Rise of the Thorns bit her lip as she drank in the sight of her precious pet—nude, bound, and helpless. It was so deliciously satisfying to watch the way the pale woman tried to remain cold and aloof, despite being a creature of flame and fury. She couldn't help the way her body responded, no matter how much she would have liked to, any more than she could control her fiery temper.

This exquisite creature was a pet the mage wasn't willing to part with—a plaything like no other. The simple act of touching pale skin and mapping out the dips and swells of that feminine form was a great pleasure to the inquisitive woman and she had learned to play the dragon like an instrument, wringing from that slender throat husky sounds of pleasure until the ancient was hoarse.

"So stubborn…"

While her captor was preoccupied with the precious fruits of her labor, the Half-Dragon unleashed her pent up Fury, her frame swelling and becoming gargantuan in proportion, scales rising from her skin with a soft, metallic sound. Now a dragon, the female roared, rending the sky in twain with the heat of the evil purple flames that poured from her maw.

No one would dare face such a fearsome opponent!

Zyra didn't bat an eyelash, casting _Grasping Roots _from both her outstretched palms and taking off at a run, using her momentum to swing up into the air to land comfortably in the spot where Shyvana's shoulders met the base of her neck. The mage used her vines as reigns, laughing victoriously as she jerked with all her might, causing the purple-scaled dragon to veer to the left, the sudden shift in her equilibrium causing her to crash to the ground with earth-shaking force.

When the dust settled, the warrior was right back where she had started: bound, nude, and helpless. Not to mention scratched up from the thorns that jutted from the plants' sides. Already, she was beginning to lose control of her muscles and her shoulders sagged in defeat.

A dragon knew when it had been conquered.

"You win," she growled, reluctance clear in her tone and the set of her jaw. Her voice was faint due to the constriction of the creepers wrapped around her throat, but her words were clear. "I will bow to you… For now."

"Oh?" Zyra chuckled, crossing the clearing so that she was standing before her pet. "You act as though you have a choice."

"Do not take this small victory as—"

A vine—one without thorns, fortunately—lashed around the lower half of a pale, heart-shaped face, effectively silencing her and Shyvana glared. If looks could kill… But the mage merely beamed.

"There, that's better."

The Half-Dragon's bindings tightened, drawing her legs open to reveal her private flesh to the sorceress's every whim and the Rise of the Thorns rested a hand on her hip, the touch burning into her skin as it slipped slowly, painfully, _excitingly _downwards.

"Now _scream_ for me."

And soon, muffled screams did in fact echo through the trees, the pleasure that saturated them nearly palpable as they faded out into the endless blue of the morning sky.

/o\

The sun was high in the sky, its warming touch revitalizing the plant mage as she tilted her head back, drinking it in.

There was a quiet, rumbling snore and Zyra chuckled, a throne of tangled creepers rising up to meet her as she lowered herself into a seated position. She crossed her arms, her eyelids lowering lazily as she reclined, basking in the light of the orb that burned brightly above. A pleased smile curved her lips as memories of her most recent conquest replayed in her mind, making her fingertips tingle and her mouth water, and her gaze dropped to the foot of her throne, the action making her smile wider still.

For it was only after the Half-Dragon had been truly sated, her nubile frame aching pleasantly as she sprawled out in the afternoon sun, naked as a newborn, that she dozed, content, at the feet of the female that had tamed her.

**-End-**


End file.
